


running in the other direction

by Margot_Lescargot



Series: Burdens of Responsibility [9]
Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Additional Scene, M/M, Missing Scene, Spoilers for Lies Sleeping, crack with feelings, set during Lies Sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21691360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margot_Lescargot/pseuds/Margot_Lescargot
Summary: "Sometimes you have to go hard to get the job done."
Relationships: Thomas Nightingale/Alexander Seawoll
Series: Burdens of Responsibility [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1522985
Comments: 19
Kudos: 38





	running in the other direction

**Author's Note:**

> This follows the action of Lies Sleeping and won't realistically make any sense without having read that. Similarly - tho' not quite as vitally - it would help to have read the previous works in this series (but if you have not, just know that Nightingale and Seawoll have been in a relationship for about a year and a half which supposedly no one but Molly knows about).  
> If you *are* following the timeline of this series, the first scene here takes place about seven months after the last one.  
> Title taken from Lies Sleeping.  
> Thanks to PerchingOwl for beta, as ever.

Although approaching midsummer, the sky was finally beginning to darken when Alex opened the door to Thomas. He was still on the ‘phone, and held up a hand in greeting, before leaving the door wide, and turning back up the hall while he finished his conversation.

Thomas closed the door behind him, hung up his coat and followed Alex into the kitchen.

‘Yeah, fine… Yeah, see you tomorrow. At eight o’clock, mind, not fucking half-past… Right, ‘bye.’

He turned to face Thomas. ‘Alright-‘ and then he saw Thomas properly. ‘What the fuck happened to you?’

Thomas grimaced, ‘I would have thought you knew.’

‘I knew you were at Chiswick with the others. I _didn’t know_ you were covered in fucking blood.’

‘No, well. Sahra briefed you no doubt. So you will know that Williams is in UCH with severe injuries. I’ve just come from there – there was no point my staying. A member of Protection Command is stationed outside; I gave her the lecture, so we should be alright until he wakes up. However, whilst the, er, the suspect missed Williams’ artery, there was still significant blood loss.’ He looked down at his jacket ruefully. ‘It was lucky I had a coat in the Jag.’

‘Fuck, Thomas. Come here,’ he put a hand to Thomas’ face and kissed him. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Perfectly. Why wouldn’t I be?’

Alex paused briefly before answering. ‘No reason. Drink?’

‘Definitely.’ Thomas removed his jacket and examined the rust-coloured stains intently, then looked down at his shirt. ‘I still have a change of clothes here, don’t I?’

‘Several. Dry cleaned and hanging in the spare room. They won’t be up to Molly’s standards, but they’ll do.’

‘Good.’ Thomas took the proffered glass and drank gratefully.

‘So what the fuck happened with the poke then?’

‘As I said, the target was incapacitated and the suspect got away, and thus far we have nothing to show for it,’ Thomas replied, almost testily.

Alex raised an eyebrow. ‘Ok.’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Thomas attempted a grin. ‘It has been, perhaps, rather a long day.’ He placed a hand on Alex’s chest. ‘Would it be a terrible imposition if we just went straight up to bed?’

‘An imposition? No, ‘course not. But don’t you want anything to eat?’

‘No. Not hungry. This will do.’ He knocked back the remaining contents of his glass and put it down. ‘Come on then,’ he said and, taking Alex by the hand, led the way upstairs.

*

Alex rang the Folly and told Molly what he needed. He drove there after work and she met him at the back door with a sizeable suitcase. She inclined her head in question.

‘Fucked if I know, Molly. I wish I did.’ He took the case, and she handed him a further, plastic bag, which looked to be filled with food cartons. ‘Thanks for this anyway. I’ll let you know.’

He drove down to Whitechapel. The evening rush hour was over and traffic had thinned out, as much as it ever did. He found the right door and walked inside.

‘Thomas?’

‘In here.’

Alex followed the voice and found himself in a large workshop. Thomas was in his shirtsleeves, tinkering with bits of metal.

‘This takes me back,’ said Alex, dumping the suitcase on the ground.

‘Oh, er, yes?’ said Thomas absently, then stepped forward and kissed him briefly. ‘All well?’

‘I think so. Everything’s quiet at any rate. How are you getting on?’

‘Fine, fine. I just wish I knew what this was for,’ and indicated the large bell hulking in the corner.

‘Can’t help you there. But, courtesy of Molly, I do have clean clothes,’ indicating the suitcase, ‘and this,’ he said, holding up the carrier bag, ‘which I’m assuming will be your supper.’

‘Yes. Good,’ said Thomas, ‘Just put it over there would you, I’ll have it later.’ He indicated a corner of the workshop, where a camp bed had been set up. Alex deposited the case next to the bed and the bag on a workbench nearby, and turned back to where Thomas was standing.

‘So what now?’

‘We wait. I wait.’

Thomas seemed to snap out of the slight abstraction he was in and focused on Alex. He moved towards him and, without preamble, began kissing him, with minimal intent at first but soon with increasing urgency. Alex responded in kind, if a little surprised, and before long Thomas was nudging him backwards towards the camp bed.

Alex disengaged when he realised Thomas’ intentions. ‘Hold on, hold on. Have you seen the size of me? My days on a camp bed are long gone.’ He eyed the ground dubiously, ‘and I don’t fancy the look of this floor either.’ He straightened, with a little difficulty. ‘Why don’t you come back to mine? Or go to the Folly? You don’t have to stay here you know. If you really think there’s a chance of Chorley or any of his minions coming back, I can have a pair of uniforms here in shifts. It’ll bugger the overtime of course,’ he added reflectively, ‘but we’re already so fucking deep in the hole there, I doubt it’d make much of a difference.’

Thomas had also stepped back and straightened up by this time, and his expression became distant again, as the desire subsided. ‘You must know that I can’t leave,’ he said.

‘If you say so.’

‘I do. Say so,’ he paused. ‘I have… spent quite enough time doing nothing. If I had not, perhaps,’ he added quietly, ‘we would not be in the fix that we’re currently in.’

‘Thomas, you can’t seriously think-‘

‘Alex, please do not tell me what I may or may not think. I have dwelt on this. At length. If I had been more… aware… decades ago; if I had understood even the significance of the explosion at the hotel in Mayfair back then, we would not – and I am convinced of this – we would not now be facing, how was it phrased? oh yes, “a serious and immediate danger to the Queen’s Peace that could match 7/7”. This,’ he continued, indicating the bell, ’is all we have currently to go on, and it is the product of considerable effort and expense. Given which, if there is even the remotest possibility of _anyone_ coming to reclaim it, then it is my… This is my responsibility.’

‘Ok,’ Alex let out a breath. ‘I‘m not going to argue with you.’ He paused, ‘How long do you think you’ll be here?’

‘As long as is required.’

‘Right.’ Thomas had already turned his attention back to the metal strips he’d been holding when Alex had walked in. ‘Let me know if you need anything,’ and he turned to leave.

*

Alex saw Thomas briefly, during the aftermath on Rivington Place, as he was supervising deployment of the first wave, and there was time for nothing more than a brief exchange of ‘You ok?’ ‘Yes. Thank you,’ before he swept off. Alex thought he looked both frantic and exhilarated, neither of which boded well.

*

The next morning, he strode into the general library of the Folly to find Thomas seated at one of the sizeable desks, rifling through a sheaf of documents. He looked up briefly as Alex came to a halt in front of him.

‘Alex.’

‘Thomas. I couldn’t make the briefing. I had to be at Belgravia first thing. Anything I should know about?’

Thomas continued to scan the papers in front of him. ‘I would have thought Miriam to have updated you, but, no, nothing of importance. Nothing new in any event.’

‘I heard Peter was here.’

‘He was.’

‘I see. And why the fuck was that?’

Thomas looked up. ‘You can’t blame me for that. I told him last night to take the weekend off. It’s not my fault if he chose to come here this morning.’

‘No. Of course not. It’s nothing to do with you that he’s grinding himself into the dust; I can’t think of any reason why he’d choose to push himself to his absolute fucking limit, to the extent he’s endangering himself physically _and_ mentally. No. Nothing to do with your influence at all. I see that.’

Thomas pushed the papers away. ‘If you have something to say, Alex, then please do be direct. I have little time for riddles at the moment.’

Alex blinked. ‘Oh. I thought I was being direct. But if not, then please allow me to fucking elucidate.’ He took a breath and leaned forward to grasp the back of the chair in front of him.

‘Peter is 28 years old. He’s seen too much, and he’s done too much for his age. He’s not you. He hasn’t walked back from a battlefield - and last time I checked, this wasn’t a fucking war zone. He hasn’t had a century of practice; he’s had less than four years.'

‘However,’ he continued, ‘since he has been with this outfit, Peter has been in serious and actual danger of losing his actual fucking life on no less than four occasions – and those are only the ones I know about.’

Alex saw Thomas flinch at this and he continued in a slightly softer tone, ‘Now I know how it was, with just you holding the line for years. But it’s not like that anymore. Look, look around you. There are support staff, there’s us, and you’ve told me there’s a network… out there that you never used to have.’

‘You don’t need to push him so hard. Or – before you tell me you’re not – you should let him know that he doesn’t need to push himself like that. Yes, this mad fucker needs catching, we all agree about that, but it’s not just down to him.’ He eyed Thomas who had gone back to looking at the papers on his desk.

‘For fucks sake, Thomas, are you even fucking listening to me?’

‘Yes of course I am; it seems I have little choice to do else. But I don’t think _you_ understand. Sometimes you have to go hard to get the job done. Because of the nature of what we deal with, in this unit, and particularly this ongoing threat, Peter’s training has, of necessity, been somewhat martial. It couldn’t be helped. With the result that now, after myself, Peter is the most powerful practitioner we have. And at this crucial stage… twice now, twice, Alex, we have almost had the bastard; I have been so close I could taste him.’ His right hand twitched slightly, but he continued calmly. ‘We have got this far and it needs but one more push and we will have them, I am sure of it. But I cannot allow Peter to flag now, any more than myself. We are the only ones who can deal with them and we cannot relent. Not yet. There will be time enough for that.’

‘Jesus, Thomas,’ said Alex slowly, ‘can you fucking hear yourself?’

Thomas eyed him coolly. ‘If you have nothing constructive to contribute, Alexander, then I suggest it may be time for you to leave.’

Alex didn’t know if the slip was deliberate or accidental, but either way it made no difference. He took a breath and tried to calm himself. ‘I’ll say this one last time: I cannot, in all good conscience, stand by and watch you shut down and turn into a fucking… machine and drag Peter along with you. And I will not.’

Thomas looked him in the eye. ‘If you’ll forgive me for saying so, you don’t really have a choice,’ he said blandly. ‘And, as to your own actions, well, that is entirely a matter for you,’ he added and returned once more to the papers on the desk in front of him. 

‘Right. Right, I see.’ Alex’s grip tightened on the chair back he was holding and his knuckles whitened; the joints of the chair creaked as he ground it into the floor. After a few seconds he released his hold on the chair and turned on his heel.

‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘ _Fuck_ ,’ and left.

*

He was looking over paperwork in his office, when Sahra crashed in without knocking.

‘Sahra, what the fuck-‘

She cut him off. ‘It’s Peter,’ she was out of breath, ‘we think that bitch has lifted him.’

‘What?’

‘You need to get to the Folly. Now.’

‘But what-‘

‘Just fucking _go_. Guv.’ she added.

He was already on his feet and out of the door.

*

Alex pulled a lift, with sirens, to the Folly, but was unsurprised to learn that, by the time he got there, Thomas had already taken off in the Jag. 

He waited impatiently for Sahra to catch up – Miriam was already out with bodies supervising the perimeter – so they could hold an emergency briefing. Noone knew where Thomas had gone.

When they were done, and Alex was on his way to the scene, he called Thomas’ mobile. It was switched on, unusually, and he answered.

‘Thomas. Where the fuck are you?’

‘Peter’s telephone was last picked up on High Holborn.’ Alex knew this of course. ‘So I am pursuing all immediate vehicular routes from there to try to identify any unusual activity, north and south in the first instance, as they are the most likely,’ His voice was clipped and Alex could hear the strain beneath it. ‘… and when I have exhausted those, I will go east-west.’

‘Understood. _But_ , as SIO on Jennifer I want you back here for the briefing tomorrow morning.’ He paused, ‘If nothing happens before then.’

There was silence on the end of the line, but Alex knew Thomas hadn’t terminated the call. ‘We need to do this properly,’ he continued. ‘You can’t be going off on your own. I get why you’re doing this, but it _will not help_ at an operational level. Do you understand? This is not just a Falcon case any more. We have the resources and we have to coordinate.‘

‘What time?’

‘Seven.’

‘I’ll be there,’ and the connection was cut.

*

For the next week, although they kept in touch by ‘phone intermittently, he barely saw Thomas. The regular briefings at the Folly’s IIO continued, ramped up now that the targets had upgraded to kidnapping a police officer, but Thomas attended only sporadically and when he did was distracted and clearly anxious to be elsewhere. Notwithstanding what Alex had said, more often than not, Thomas excused himself to drive who knew where and to what end in the Jag, returning to the Folly after hours only to change his clothes and snatch a few hours rest.

Once he turned up at Alex’s house, apologetically, after midnight, with the intent only of sleeping on his sofa for a while; he managed to eat something, but couldn’t settle and, after a couple of hours he was off and on his way again. It was the first time Alex had seen him properly for days; he looked gaunt and colourless and Alex was shocked by the dark grey smudges under his eyes. Alex could only just prevent himself from reaching out to touch him, but he pushed the urge aside. There would be time to talk about the two of them when Peter was back.

After three or four days, the immediate shock had worn off and the operation had settled into the usual grinding of leads, reviewing CCTV footage, reported sightings, and the like. 

Alex was waiting in the main house for a report from one of the analysts when Molly, after replenishing the tea table for the afternoon surge, approached him and discreetly took his arm, propelling him towards the back door.

‘What? What is it?’

Molly handed him a cardboard cake box and pointed across the courtyard towards the coach house, then inclined her head imperatively at him before gliding back towards the kitchen.

As instructed, Alex crossed the courtyard and walked up the spiral staircase, alone this time, and knocked on the door of the tech cave. Beverley snatched it open as if she had been waiting behind it. Her face fell when she saw him, but she recovered and looked at him suspiciously.

‘DCI Seawoll. Alex. Molly wanted me to give you this,’ and he held out the cake box.

‘Thanks.’ She opened the door wider and stood aside to let him in and then closed it.

‘Seawoll?’ she turned to face him. ‘Yeah, Peter’s mentioned you,’ she attempted a smile. ‘You work with the Isaacs sometimes, right?’

The Isaacs was a new one on Alex, but he got enough from the context to agree. ‘That’s right. When we have to. And obviously, at the minute.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Beverley nodded. ‘Hold on… Alex?’ She paused, then gasped. ‘It’s _you_ , isn’t it? _You’re_ the one… with him I mean?’

It wasn’t the clearest sentence, but Alex had no trouble understanding what she meant; she must have been talking to Molly. He frowned. ‘Yeah, I mean, I..... it’s a bit up in the air at the minute. But, yeah.’

Beverley’s eyes went wide. ‘Shiiiiiiiiiit,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t know does he?’

Alex was pleased to note that she was still referring to Peter in the present tense.

‘Peter?’ he gave a small grin. ‘What do you think?’

She started to smile and then her face crumpled like a child’s.

‘I can’t…’

Alex gathered her to him and hugged her. She offered no resistance, leaning into him.

‘I promise you that we’ve got everyone we can spare – and some we can’t – out there looking for him. You know that don’t you?’

She nodded against his chest.

‘And you know – _you know_ – that he won’t stop, won’t rest, until he’s found him and brought him back.’ He paused, ‘No matter what I say.’

She sniffed. ‘What are we like?’

‘We can’t help ourselves?’ He shrugged, ‘Something like that?’

She gave a watery chuckle, and he held her away from him again. 

‘I have to go now, get back inside and see what’s going on. Are you going to be alright?’

‘Yeah. I’m gonna ring round my sisters again. See if they’ve heard anything.’

‘Ok. Well call me if you need anything, Molly has my number.’

‘Yeah, thanks.’

He opened the door and headed back to the main house.

*

He was at home when Sahra called on his personal mobile. 

‘He called. I’m going to get him.’ She didn’t have to say anything else.

He changed quickly and was heading out of his front door when his ‘phone went again. It was Miriam. ‘Peter’s safe. He’s in Brixton. I’m on my way there now to meet Nightingale.’

‘Ok. Cover it. I’m going to the Incident Room. I’ll be there in fifteen. Keep in touch.’

Alex stayed in the Incident Room with a hastily-reconvened skeleton staff long enough to make a number of ‘phone calls and ensure the necessary resources were forthcoming, and then he headed down to Brixton; to the factory as they were now calling it.

He got there to find a significant POLSA team crawling all over the main building, with Miriam overseeing them. He hesitated on the threshold, while putting on shoe protectors; Miriam spotted him and raised a hand. She came over.

‘Where is he?’

She indicated inside. ‘Ta,’ he said and went in.

The two main rooms of interest were teeming with suited staff, working methodically and in near silence. Alex stood carefully in the doorway of the one of the workshops and saw Thomas, in the midst of them, inevitably without any protective gear whatsoever. Alex waited until he caught his eye and then gestured outside.

To his credit, Thomas stepped gingerly around the edge of the room to join him. He looked…. he looked half-dead.

‘Anything?’

‘Nothing of any note. Nothing that we couldn’t have guessed knowing his principles. I’ve done an initial sweep and there doesn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary. Apart from-‘ and he swayed alarmingly.

Alex grabbed him by the arm. ‘Over here.’

He half-dragged him towards a small outbuilding, probably last used for storing machine parts. A POLSA was hovering inside, but with no real purpose. 

‘How are you getting on, lad?’

‘I’ve done a full assessment. It doesn’t look like anyone’s been in here for months, maybe longer. So nothing to report, sir,’ he said apologetically.

‘Right well, on you go. I think you might be wanted in the main building. Report to DI Stephanopoulos and she’ll find you something to do.’

The man looked between the two of them. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said and retreated hurriedly.

Alex turned to Thomas, who was leaning against the wall dazedly, and pulled him inside.

‘Just take a fucking breather, alright? There’s no immediate threat. If there was you’d’ve felt the fucking tingles by now. Just…’ Alex didn’t know what he was trying to say. Relax, stop, go home. None of them were appropriate here.

As he thought this, he was surprised to see one of Thomas’s hands groping blindly for him. The look on his face was one of abject terror.

‘Alex. They kept him here. For over a week. In a hole in the fucking ground. They kept him alive, and I’ve still no idea why. But what if… what if…?’ And whatever it was that had kept Thomas Nightingale on his feet for the last eight days, for the last however many months, suddenly collapsed. He seemed to turn in on himself and would have dropped to the ground had Alex not caught him. There were no tears, but he gasped for air, as if he had been underwater, and shook uncontrollably.

There was a packing case against one of the walls and Alex managed to manoeuvre Thomas until he was sitting on it. He still showed a startling tendency to slump forward and he seemed to have lost all volition, so Alex held him upright by standing against his side and bracing one arm across his chest.

Thomas continued to fight for breath for some minutes; the shaking subsided more quickly, though the occasional recurrent tremor ran through him. Alex remained where he was, until Thomas fidgeted slightly and pushed his arm away. Alex looked at him and saw that his eyes were now focused again. ‘I think I’m alright, now,’ he said, ‘I just need to-‘ and he put his head between his knees, and began to breathe deeply. 

Alex stepped back and regarded him worriedly. Through the doorway, he saw Miriam approaching across the yard curiously. He gestured emphatically to her with his head and she moved off again, taking a DS and two POLSA with her.

After a short while longer, Thomas sat up and looked directly at Alex, and his face had a haunted look Alex had never seen before.

‘He could have been killed.’

‘Yes, he could,’ agreed Alex. ‘So could we all. It goes with the job.’

Perversely, something in this statement seemed to reassure Thomas; he ran a hand through his hair and stood up shakily, steadying himself by means of a hand on Alex’s chest. Then he straightened fully and squared his shoulders.

‘Quite. You are of course correct.’

‘Always am,’ said Alex. ‘You’d do well to remember that,’ and he smiled. ‘Now then, I need to get back to the Incident Room and see what’s going on there. Miriam will be overseeing here for me. Are you going to be alright?’

‘With the redoubtable DI Stephanopoulos?’ and Thomas dredged up the ghost of a grin. ‘I should like to see anyone try anything while she’s in charge. But yes,’ he added, ‘I’ll be alright.

‘Good man,’ said Alex. ‘And get home when you can. No need to stay here any longer than necessary.’

He turned to leave, but not before Thomas’s hand caught him by the arm.

‘Thank you. Alex.’

Alex gave the hand a quick reassuring squeeze. ‘No bother,’ he said, and headed out towards his car.

*

The next afternoon, as Peter and Abigail were discussing the best method of statementing foxes, and Miriam was half-listening with narrowed eyes and a slightly pained expression, Alex walked into the Incident Room at the Folly. He spotted Thomas, and, after a brief word with Miriam, approached him; he was leaning against the wall on the far side of the room, staring into the middle distance.

‘Thomas,’ he said, to no response. ‘Thomas,’ slightly louder, but still nothing. Casting a quick look around the room, he put a hand on Thomas’ shoulder and put his face close to his.

‘Thomas!’ he said urgently. With a blink, Thomas’ eyes focused on Alex’s and then he looked away again quickly.

‘You know you can’t go on like this, don’t you?’

A deep sigh. ‘Yes. I know.’ He continued, ‘When this is over-’

‘No. Not when this is over. He’s a slippery bastard and we still have no idea where he’s fucking going or how long this is going to take. Do it now.’

Thomas looked at him. ‘But I don’t know where…’

‘Look, I’ve found a contact. Someone you can speak to, properly I mean. Someone who can deal with your….shit. I’ve got the number here.’ He proffered a business card. ‘Come on. Make the call Thomas.’

Thomas didn’t move. ‘Oh for fucks sake, I’ll do it shall I?’

‘If you wouldn’t mind.’ He paused. ‘Thank you, Alex. You are… invaluable.’

Alex smiled wryly, ‘And don’t I fucking know it.’

*

A week and a half, some major disturbances to public order and a degree of emotional honesty later, Thomas and Alex were still in his bed at the Folly at half past ten in the morning. 

There had been an earlier debate about the necessity of dressing for breakfast – Thomas in favour, Alex less so - which was still ongoing when they’d heard a scratching at the door. Alex got up and poked his head outside to see a black skirt whisk around the corner of the corridor and an industrial-sized butler’s tray on the threshold. In addition to a sizeable breakfast, which could have fed five or six people comfortably, there was a sharply pressed copy each of the _Sunday Telegraph_ and _The Observer_ , and a flower in a small silver holder.

‘Thank you, Molly,’ Alex bellowed down the corridor after her, and, turning to Thomas, said ‘Look at this. Seems we won’t have to move downstairs for a bit after all.’ He bent to pick up the tray and grunted, ‘Oof. How the fuck did she manage to carry this up here? It weighs a fucking tonne.’

Thomas sprang up and helped him get the tray onto the bed, where they had a decent breakfast and glanced cursorily at the newspapers. Then they deposited the tray on the floor and made lazy, unhurried, Sunday-morning love, as the sun rose higher in the sky.

Presently, Alex rolled over to see if there was any drinkable coffee left in the insulated pot that Molly had helpfully provided. Pouring some, he sat up against the bedstead to drink it and rested the newspaper on his knees, while his other hand absently stroked the chestnut waves of Thomas’ hair as he dozed beside him.

Alex had worked his way through the news section and two others before Thomas stirred.

‘Any more of that coffee?’

‘Not by this time. But we probably should think about getting up anyway.’

‘Must we? To do what exactly?’

‘Well I dunno. Are you not due to speak to Peter today?’

‘No, tomorrow. I thought it best if we tried to stick to a work schedule of sorts; by which I mean, I don’t intrude upon him at the weekend.’

‘You thought of that did you? Having the weekend off? Good for you.’

‘Yes, very funny. I do listen every so often you know.’

‘I know,’ Alex grinned, then became serious. ‘And when you do speak to him, can you impress upon him again that he needs to go and see someone, someone he can talk to. I gave him and Sahra the talk a couple of weeks ago, and it was in one ear and out of the other. Maybe he’ll listen to you. As his commanding officer.’

‘Less of that, thank you. I don’t need reminding,’ he grimaced. ‘But you’re right of course. I’ll raise it with him tomorrow.’

‘And there’s something else you’ll be needing to tell him now as well, maybe?’

‘Is there? Such as?’

‘Thomas…’

‘Yes, I know, I know. I’m teasing, of course.’

‘Look, I’m not trying to force your hand unduly, but it’s been nearly two years now, so if there is an issue, then you need to have a think and work out exactly what it is that you want.’

‘I don’t have to think, Alex. Isn’t it obvious? Hasn’t it been obvious? I want you; I want this…us.’

‘Right well, better get the fuck on with it then.’

‘And I shall,’ he smiled at Alex, and then paused to consider. ‘But I confess I’m not looking forward to it. Not – before you say it – because I need to tell him that I’m involved with a man - I don’t believe that carries any weight with Peter - but because I need to tell him I’m involved with anyone at all. I fear I have rather given him the impression over the last few years of a somewhat ascetic existence. I believe he thinks that my general preference is to sit alone reading a slim volume of metaphysical poetry (which I abhor incidentally); you know, my mind on higher things, _wholly_ uninterested in sex-‘

At which point, he had to break off as Alex snorted and burst into laughter simultaneously bringing on a coughing fit and obliging Thomas to sit up and pound him on the back. 

‘Yes,’ said Alex gasping for breath. ‘Yes I can see that.’

‘What you see is not what Peter sees. For which I am profoundly grateful. But whilst the fact remains that this will come as a shock to him, yes, I agree that now is the time that it must be done. And,’ he added ruminatively, ‘it is made easier, to some degree, by the fact that he’ll no longer be living here.’

‘Well it’s something else he can talk to a therapist about, isn’t it? If it’s that big a deal for him. Which I doubt, actually, but you know him better than I do.’ Alex looked at Thomas, and added, soberly ‘And you, how is yours going? The therapy I mean.’

Thomas was silent a moment. ‘Well, it hasn’t been long of course. And I wouldn’t say it was easy, but I daresay it’s not supposed to be. There is… a lot. It will take a while, I think.’

‘I know. Or rather, I don’t know. But anyway, well done. I’m proud of you,’ and he leaned over to kiss Thomas on the forehead, who grinned at him.

*

I made pretty decent time to the Folly from Bev’s in the Focus, and parked up in the courtyard. The Jag was in situ, but that was no surprise as Nightingale had said he was going to be there. 

I went to the tech cave first, and hulked back down to the Focus with all the non-Met electronics that were up there, plus my supply of expendable technology. All except the TV. I could live with depriving Nightingale of the rugby, but Molly would have my guts for garters - and I’m not speaking metaphorically here - if I was the reason she couldn’t watch _Bake Off_. And I did plan on coming back here. One day.

Once everything was packed, I strolled over to the back door, past the IIO portacabin. It was still there, obviously, since the search for Lesley was ongoing (and that was as far as I was going down that road). Though I was officially out of the loop on Met matters these days, Sahra had dropped enough hints that the IIO was likely to remain in some capacity. Even without the careful shepherding of yours truly, the Folly would continue crawling – painfully – towards the 21st century. It might even make it there one day. It was enough to gladden the heart. 

Nightingale had said he wanted to see me, but there didn’t seem to be anyone around and I let myself in. I expected Molly to apparate out of nowhere, but she must have been busy elsewhere, so I made my own way to the atrium as the likeliest place to find life, and was surprised to hear what sounded like Seawoll’s voice coming from that direction. 

When I got there, I saw that it _was_ him, large as life and, well, large as life, standing beside a groaning tea table, with Nightingale hovering nearby, looking awkward even for them.

‘Ah, Peter,’ said Nightingale, and his arm flailed from his side slightly, before he controlled it by putting it in his jacket pocket. ‘Got everything?’

‘Yeah, thanks. I’ve left the TV. Bev’s got her own and we don’t need two. You and Molly can still make use of it I’m sure.’ I turned to acknowledge Seawoll, ‘Inspector,’ and he nodded.

‘Good. Good. Capital. Well, I, er, thought you might like to join us for tea before you head back. Molly’s been at it again, as you can see, and, er, I thought we might have a little chat.’

I’d no idea what the fuck this could be about, and what was Seawoll doing there? I was suspended and everything was going through the IPCC. By rights I shouldn’t even have been inside the Folly. What was going on now that I needed a “chat” with two DCIs.

‘A chat, guv?’ Suspended or not, old habits were hard to break.

‘Yes, er, do sit down. Um, Inspector Seawoll and I, that is to say, Alex and I-‘

Hold on. ‘Sorry? _Alex_?’ What the _fuck_.

Seawoll spoke at last, saying kindly, ‘Sit down, lad. Have a cup of tea. There’s something we want to tell you.’

**Author's Note:**

> EDITED TO ADD: I was compelled to actually write the conversation which cuts off at the end, and which may be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22820572


End file.
